Come Away To The Water
by legleekcestchic
Summary: Klaine AU: Hunger Games Universe "My name, Kurt Hummel, is printed delicately onto seven folded slips of paper. Seven chances of being chosen as the male 'tribute' from District 4 for the 59th Annual Hunger Games." Kurt has already lost so much in the cruel world that is Panem, and he's about to lose a lot more as he learns that the odds are never really in your favor.
1. Drowning

**_A/N: Hi! So a fic is born! This is going to be a multichapter fic, I have a lot of it planned out already. I think I will be keeping the chapters around this size as I find it a nice size for updating._**

**_So a little summary: This is a fanfiction based around the characters Kurt and Blaine from Glee (but many others from glee too), but written into The Hunger Games world so AU. This is set before the time of our friends from the books, those of you who have read the entire trilogy will see my logic in this. This year's games will be the 59th._**

**_Also IMPORTANT!: Right, in my story I have changed the 50th Quarter Quell to suit my needs. I know that in 'Catching Fire' the 2nd Quarter Quell varies from what I use in my story, but I needed to change that for an element of my story to work. I was skeptical about it, but I found no better way, so this is how it is!  
_**

**_Warnings!: This story is naturally quite dark due to it being set in the Hunger Games world. If you've read the books, you shouldn't find this any worse than that._**

**_-Death of children/young people (ages 12-18) but not over graphic.  
-You may find this story upsetting, it's not fluffy bunnies and unicorns that's for sure!_**

**_Also, Major Character death, but will be tasteful. If you can't handle this, then I don't mind if you move on to some fluff instead :) But I WILL be warning you again on the chapter where this happens, so you can stick around until then if you like.  
_**

**_There won't be any spoilers for Catching Fire or Mockingjay in this story, however it obviously uses many themes and ideas from The Hunger Games itself._**

**_Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jenna Linda :D_**

**_Here we go!_**

**Come Away To The Water  
**Chapter One  
_Drowning_

My head is spinning as I stand in form with the others. My jaw clenched and fists balled so tight that my fingernails dig into my sweaty palms; desperately trying to get a grip on reality. This isn't my first reaping, but my last. You would think that going through the motions six times already would make me prepared for this very moment - that it should be easy. Untrue. This year is the hardest. At eighteen the odds are the least in my favour than they ever have been.

I glance over at the large glass bowls in front of the Justice Building and swallow thickly. Two of them. One for the boys and one for the girls. But of course, it's always ladies first. The bowl for the boys stands upon a stone podium. The stand is sea green, and just like the Justice Building itself; the mineral has been carved into carefully, leaving pretty aquatic shapes of shells, fish and swirls like water. The thousands of slips of paper in the glass form sea white foam on the podiums. I've always admired the beauty and intricate design, but today the podiums seem less of a wonder and more of a curse.

My name, Kurt Hummel, is printed delicately onto seven of the folded slips. Seven chances of being chosen as the male 'tribute' from District 4 for the 59th Annual Hunger Games. Sure this isn't even close to how bad it _could_ be. For those who need to take out tesserae the odds are even steeper.

I scan around the lines of children crowding the square until my eyes find Sam Evans; he catches my glance and smiles weakly. I know the sandy haired boy from school. He's a nice guy, but unlucky. Sam has had to take out a tessera for each member of his family every year since the age of twelve. With the cumulative entries, that leaves him with thirty-six slips at seventeen years old. I force a sorry excuse for a smile back at him which casts his sea green eyes down; looking sadder than ever. I look back to the stage, I seem to find it hard to care too much about anyone other than myself at this moment in time. But, given the circumstances, I don't feel it's too selfish.

Children are still filling in and I still feel positively ill. I have an awful feeling that I may vomit on my dress shirt. Fear that the stench of bile will never really wash out of the beautiful thing makes me breathe deeply as I try to get a hold on myself. After all, it wasn't every day that you managed to afford clothes that were actually _fitted_ in District 4.

I spot my father in the crowd. The dark circles under his eyes are evidence of years of restless nights due to dreams filled with worry, loss and heartbreak. He's already lost so much to The Games. The 2nd Quarter Quell took my mother as victim. This 'special' 50th year celebration was a rule changer; rather than twelve to eighteen year olds competing, anyone of any age could be reaped. The female tribute from 4 just so happened to be my mother.

When my father's tired eyes meet mine, I readjust my thoughts; feeling guilt with a side of grief for something that wasn't in my control.

Time moves so slowly. I look down to my feet and wriggle my toes in my dress shoes. It seems like a lifetime ago rather than this morning that I was sitting on soft, sun-baked sand with the warm ocean licking at the ten digits. I close my eyes and imagine myself back on the beach where I belong. I picture it like this morning. The sea is washing up and down my bare legs in a soothing rhythm and the morning sun glows hot through closed eyelids. The breeze ruffles my hair playfully. The saltiness of green flecked, fresh bread melts on my tongue; nothing quite beats homemade goodies. I think I can hear the gentle whoosh of the ocean in my ears, but something isn't quite right when the sound only gets closer rather than coming and going softly. My sun fades as a shadow casts over me; I open my eyes and am brought back to harsh reality by the sight of the gigantic aircraft overhead. The Capitol's logo, huge and gold on the craft, catching the light like a spark of lightning as it lowers into the space mapped out in the Justice Building's square.

The aircraft lands with a gust of air that makes me sway back a little. It rattles the large temporary screens, put up solely for displaying the Capitol's sick show to the whole of District 4. The hatch to the craft is released and stairs come cascading out shortly after. A pair of glittered heels begin down the steps followed by the clunking boots of two Peacekeepers. Add them to the other Peacekeepers already stationed at various positions around the square, on the roofs, on the reaping stage then there are only a few hundred of them…

Attached to the sparkling feet are almost florescent tights and a simply hideous frock. I can hear her before I see her face, screeching welcomes at us because she clearly cannot wait until she has reached the microphone. Rachel Berry toddles onto the stage, straightens out her dress and coughs into the microphone, "Hello everybody!" she shouts, forgetting that her already loud voice is being amplified. I can't help but screw up my face at the sight of her ghastly alterations, they're worse than last year. Her hair cropped to her jaw line (completely unflattering to her face shape in my opinion) and coloured gold. Her arms hold trails of golden tattoos, all in the shape of stars. They carry on up her neck and onto her face. I wouldn't be surprised if they were dotted over her entire body.

"Okay guys and girls, it's movie time!" She beams as she does an excited little shimmy.

The Capitol anthem blasts across the square as images flash across the large screens. This is new. Up until this year they have always read us the history of Panem from a worn little book. It seems that they've upgraded to a film instead. Lucky us.

Staged clips of rebellion and terror fade over each other on the screen as the president's cold tone narrates the visuals. I switch off as he begins talking of how Panem rose out of the ashes and how despite how we districts treated them, The Capitol 'forgave' us out of the 'kindness of their hearts'. The bile is threatening to make an appearance more than ever now at The Capitol's propaganda.

I turn my attention to District 4's remaining victors. They sit beside one another on the stage, their faces hold a look of attempted indifference. These two will mentor our district's tributes this year. I look to the female victor, Sue Sylvester; she sits tall and with the most believable look of not caring. If I didn't know better I would say she looked hard and cold, yet however I _do_ know better. Her hair is cropped short and a sandy blonde colour; like so many in District 4. I glance over to the other victor, the younger of the two, William Schuester. I see straight through his charade, he looks tired and broken. The far-off look and the dampness in the corner of his eyes tell me that he's trying hard not to cry.

I notice the music come to an end and I am shaken back by Rachel's loud voice over the microphone.

"Brilliant!" She exclaims. "Now, ladies first!" It only irritates me further how her Capitol accent seems to require her voice go up at the end of each line as if everything is a question.

Ms Berry patters over to the reaping podium on the left. My heart pumps harder in my chest as her manicured fingers swoop down into the sea of paper. I don't have many friends in the district, but there are those from school I'd rather not see get picked.

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel reads clearly. I gasp and turn my head along with everyone else towards the girl. Fear registers on her face before it is veiled with a brave scowl.

She makes her way towards the stage.

Quinn Fabray. I know this girl alright, from school. At first I am surprised that no one steps up to volunteer for her, as everyone knows that 4 have been known for careering tributes. My guess is that the lack of egotistical neanderthals must be due to the recent crackdown on producing careers. It's illegal anyway, but I almost wish that the tradition had carried through.

My eyes flit to Sam, Quinn's boyfriend; now utter terror consumes his form. I start to feel some empathy for the guy. Odds are, he'll have to watch his girlfriend die on national television; just like my father did his wife.

I feel my throat closing a little as swallowing becomes harder, as my eyes sting a little and I think I almost cry. All that dissolves instantly though as Rachel speaks again into the microphone,

"And now for the boys!"

I can't help but think of no one but myself from here. If I thought that my heart was racing before, then I was wrong. I close my eyes as things begin to sway again and I feel my stomach trying to force my breakfast back up; more determined than ever.

I want to keep my eyes closed until it's over. Why is this taking so long? If she would just read out the name already-

"Kurt Hummel!" Her voice spreads across the sea of bodies like a huge wave, crashing and breaking as it hits me. I open my eyes to see them all looking at me, but I can't move; I'm drowning in her words. Me. It's me. I'm the one going into that arena to die.


	2. My Father's Abyss

_**A/N: Here's the second chapter! I was going to wait a week before posting, but I felt that was kind of mean. **_

_**Same warnings apply as to the first chapter.**_

_**Also, something I forgot to mention in the last A/N, I am aware that some aspects of my story are more like The Hunger Games movie (like the showing of the film at reaping etc.) like I said, I am fully aware of this and I'm sorry if you'd prefer that I stuck to the books solely, but I hope you'll agree with the choices I've made any way because I feel that they work better with my story.**_

_**I don't own either The Hunger Games or Glee, nor do I own their characters or any aspect of their story.**_

_**Thanks again to my friend and beta Jenna Linda, she writes too so check her out :)**_

**_Please review, I'd love to hear your feedback._**

**Come Away To The Water**

Chapter Two  
_My Father's Abyss_

When Rachel Berry calls out my name, every face in the square turns to stare at me. Some faces are shocked, some sympathetic, some just relieved that it's not them. Though there is only one face I see among them, my father Burt Hummel's. His piercing green eyes bore into mine across the crowd. I can see that the scars of his past have been ripped open and they are flowing with fresh but all-too-familiar pain. I want to run, right now, off to my beach. I want to escape the inevitability of causing my father more suffering and torment.

But I can't. His wellbeing isn't in my hands anymore; it's in The Capitol's.  
There are peacekeepers at either side of me, clutching my arms in a firm grip that wills me to do as I'm supposed to. I want to say something, shout something, do anything that will make a difference, but nothing will. I decide to avoid looking towards my father from then on, as I don't think I can handle his pained eyes again.

The crowd of boys and girls parts as I am escorted through them. As I approach the stage I meet Quinn's gaze, she actually looks quite sorry for me. I'm not too surprised, we do have some kind of history as friends, but she always seemed a bit like me; like someone who thinks only for themselves in order to get by.

Before I can even make it over to the microphone besides Rachel Berry, she's skipped over to meet me, "I'm going to hug you now." She says excitedly. Before I can resist she's captured me in a tight and uncomfortable embrace. Her bright pink lips pucker against my cheek a few times until she releases me and scrubs the lipstick residue off my skin.

"It's a shame," she says softly to no one in particular, "you're a pretty one."

Have people of The Capitol always been so shallow?

Rachel dramatically sniffs and wipes a 'tear' from her eye before clearing her throat, "Right. Well people of District 4, I present to you your brave young tributes; Kurt Hummel and Quinn Fabray!" She looks between the two of us, her arms tight around our waists, gripping us close to her sides, "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

Quinn, shifting under the possessive hold, looks just as awkward about the invasion of her personal space as I am.

The applause is slight and without meaning. Not one of them, not in District 4 anyway, wants to see their community's children go off to die. Well, to slaughter each other to be more precise. I look around at them all in the crowd, knowing that there's a large chance I'll never see any of their faces again. I feel the desire to be angry at them all bubbling within me. Why was I chosen? Why not them? How can my father lose yet another he loves to these wretched games? I feel the hate bubbling inside of me, but what use is it? We are all just insignificant little fishes in The Capitol's sea. Which ones they'll pick off, catch and kill, is something not one of us knows until it happens. Some escape the hunt and are rewarded with a long happy life for it. The real question is how can The Capitol be so deranged and get away with it, and for so long?

"Okay you two," she informs not only us, but the crowd too, "better get going. We have _lots_ to do! And I won't have my tributes being late for such an important business!" She clutches onto our arms and instructs us under her breath, "Well wave then dears!"

We oblige, waving goodbye rather pathetically to our friends, family, homes and our lives.

I feel Rachel's tiny hand on the small of my back as she directs Quinn and me in through the doors of the Justice Building. It's pretty inside, with interesting décor, which is much more desirable than the homemade furniture in the houses of 4. But when driftwood, seaweed and rope are pretty much the only resources you have, makeshift will have to do.

I've never been in here myself before. People come to the Justice Building to sign up for tesserae, but as my father never let me; it's all new. Before I have time to have a proper look around, I'm being whisked away to a room deeper within the building. I'm being prompted to sit down on a soft, plush chair, but as soon as the nameless escorts leave I stand up and begin to pace along the green marble tiles.

What do I say to my father? Each tribute is allowed goodbyes before they are carted off to The Capitol. A few measly minutes with the people you love before they have to watch you die in the massacre of the Games. How will I ever manage to conjure up anything meaningful?

I almost hope that my father doesn't show up at all; at least if I can find a reason to resent him, however small, then it'll be easier to let him go before I reach the arena.

A shuffling in the halls brings me immediately to my feet from the velvety armchair, where I must have seated myself without even realising so. The palm wood door swings open and my father stumbles in at the light shove of a Peacekeeper. He's still wearing his work overalls, which, despite everything; I internally giggle at because it's just far too typical of him. He never has once bothered changing into fancy clothes for reaping. After his morning shift at the boat servicing dock; our family business, my father goes straight to the Justice Building as he is on reaping day.

Every year I try to persuade him to change into something a little smarter, but every year he gives me the same reply, _"The Capitol accepts me like this just fine when I'm working my ass off for them, so why should it be any different today? I don't owe them anything."_ I understand where he is coming from, but you can't just do things like that here in Panem, any sign of rebellion can land you in big trouble.

"Three minutes." The Peacekeeper announces before closing the door loudly in exit. A few moments pass awkwardly as I stare down at my father's scuffed black boots. I know that I am wasting precious time; I can feel the seconds slip away like grains of sand through a timer, but I cannot seem to bring myself to look at the man across from me.

"Kurt." My father's broken voice echoes throughout the still room, pleading for his last minutes of my attention. I look up finally and meet his sad gaze, his eyes are brimmed with tears, but even with the moisture, they never manage to glisten quite like they used to before my mother died. I try to read his expression, but he's far too shattered to make much sense of.

My own eyes are burning now. I stand, my body lightly quivering as I try to swallow down the tears. I must be strong, for him.

"Dad...I...it's gonna be okay." I begin, putting my every effort into sounding like it will, but my voice fails me as I barely choke the words out. I shake my head. What's the use in pretending? I stride quickly across the room and into my father's arms, pulling him into me and grasping onto him tight, for most probably the last time.

I let the tears fall freely, they roll over my cheeks and soak into the soft and warn fabric covering my father's shoulder. I hear him sniffling into my neck as he begins to cry with me.

"I'm so sorry Kurt. Th-this shouldn't…it should be like this." he weeps.

"Shh. Don't." I hush him, troubled by how he came to the conclusion that somehow this is his fault.

"But-" he begins, but I cut him off; letting go of my tight hold on him to look at the man seriously, resting my hands on his hunched shoulders,

"No. This is _not _your fault, you understand? It's The Capitol's and this is just how it is, Dad, you know that." I say, lowering my tone a little, fearing my words could be interpreted as slanderous.

He nods weakly, unconvinced, but agreeing with me nevertheless, "I love you, Kurt. Just...just thank you for…everything, kiddo."

Hot tears start to tumble down my cheeks; I know too well what he means by 'everything'. Things were really bad the year that my mother was reaped and devoured by the Games. My father spiralled into oblivion. He spent every second of the day in the workshop and wouldn't leave. I had to all-but force him to eat, drink, wash; it was a nightmare. But I understood. My mother was the love of his life. They were childhood friends, married after school and had been together ever since. Most nights he would cry out in his sleep as wretched nightmares consumed his mind, and I would be the only one to hush and hold him. It took my father a long time to emerge from the depths of his suffering, and I was the one to pull him out; I was his lighthouse to guide him through the fog he'd found himself lost in for far too long. It was hard, but we got there in the end, sort of.

I hear the footsteps of the Peacekeepers creeping closer and the reality of this conversation sets in. This is it, they're coming back and these are very likely to be the last seconds spent between me and my father. I grab him tightly into my arms once again, this time in panic and half-hoping that the harder I squeeze, the more time we'll have.

"This is it Dad, I love you." I snivel into his shoulder, "Look after yourself, please, for me, for Mom." I plead. When my father doesn't reply I let go to study his face and almost wish I hadn't, he looks more broken than ever.

Then the doors are flying open and the Peacekeepers are storming in, they are coming for him. I hold my father's face between my hands and place one last kiss upon his forehead, "Goodbye" I whisper.

I then watch as the one person who truly cares for me is dragged away.


	3. Fragmented

_**A/N: It's Tuesday again, it's been a week since I uploaded chapters 1 & 2 so here's 3 for you :) Trying to make it a weekly thing and it's on the old Glee-day! :D**_

_****__****__**This one is a bit longer than the previous two, Chapter 4 shouldn't be quite a long! Finally you are introduced to a certain someone you may have been waiting for.**_

_****__**Same warnings apply as to the first chapter.**_

_**I don't own either The Hunger Games or Glee, nor do I own their characters or any aspect of their story.**_

_**Thanks again to my friend and beta Jenna Linda, she writes too so check her out :)**_

**Come Away To The Water**

Chapter Three

_Fragmented_

The palm doors slam shut, sealing the entrance to the world as I know it and leaving me stranded in this room until the visiting time is up. A whole allotted hour for goodbyes seems a little extravagant, but then again, most tributes have multiple loved ones to bid farewell to. Like I said, I don't have many friends.

I retire back to the plush chair, dabbing my weeping eyes with the backs of my hands, taking extra care not make them puff up any more than they already have. I've been silly to let myself cry, I am certain there will be cameras in my face the second we step back out of the building. For once this isn't an issue of vanity, but rather the fact that a snivelling tribute quickly becomes a weak one among others and is very likely picked off first. I'd be the laughing stock, especially seeing as I'm male and not particularly brawny.

I spend most of the left-over time staring into space, thinking about my mother, about things. Subconsciously I raise my hand to my chest, my fingers brush over hard cool mineral which presses into my skin there. I pull the pendant out from where it is hidden below the fine material of my shirt; hanging safely and close to my heart. I fiddle with the elegant shell, stroking the soft surface. Its appearance is pretty, delicate, yet to me it feels imperishable between my fingers, how I wish the latter could have been said for my mother too. As I move the pendant the tiniest of sounds chimes through the still air, I turn over the shell, remembering what is kept behind it.

Behind my mother's shell is another charm, a miniature silver cowbell, the only thing kept closer to the beating in my chest than the shell.

The memories flood my brain as I allow myself to remember just this once.

_It's cold, I'm cold, but in a way I'm grateful for it as it distracts me a little from the pain. My salt-water sodden feet stumble over the wet sand, taking me somewhere unknown. The wind feels as if it's biting my skin, but I don't care, I only keep going. I hug my arms around my middle as it comforts me a little, but there is only one embrace I long for right now, my mom's, but she's been snatched away from me, from this life all together. _

_I know that if I carry on down the beach I'll reach the edge of the district, which may as well be the end of the world… as far as I'll ever know anyway. As I walk, I try to recognise parts of the shore, but my knowledge of the land is beginning to wear woefully thin. My father has taken me fishing more times than I could count, but always further back down the beach. I've already passed the spot where he took me rock pooling last month a while ago on my journey. Sometimes my mother would sit with me on the sand, not far from our little house on the shore, and teach me how to make fishing hooks or tie knots. Her elegant fingers could craft all sorts. _

_Tears roll down my face and join the salty wet sand as I think of my mom. I miss her so much, my heart aches. _

_As I reach the chain link fence marking the border of District 4 (or the border of District 10, depending on which way you look at it) I slump against the cold barrier. Sitting, I burry my head between my knees, trying hard to block out the rest of the world around me. _

_I know I should go home; my father will be worrying about me, it's been a while, how long exactly I cannot be sure, but I can't bring myself to move a muscle. That is until I feel a hand grasp my shoulder through the fence and I leap forward on instinct. I turn, ready for my eyes to meet an angry Peacekeeper's, but there isn't a suited figure to be seen. Instead, behind the fence, stands a boy with big, round hazel eyes; blinking at me, perplexed. He's smaller than me; kind of scrawny, but my father says that I'm a little tall for my age group, so the boy with the mop of dark curls could still be close to me in age. His little hand is still against the fence as he stares at me. _

"_Oh, hi." I say to him, a little embarrassed at my overreaction to the boy's touch._

"_Hey, uh…are you okay?" The dark haired boy replies, concerned. _

"_Suppose so, yeah. You just scared me is all." I admit, taking a few steps back towards him._

"_I'm so sorry!" The boy apologises before looking down towards his sandy feet shamefully, "Why were you crying?" He asks._

"_It's…complicated." I say. I doubt that this boy, however nice, wants to have to listen to my sad story._

"_That's okay, I'm a good listener, and I can understand quite a lot of things." Says the boy, who sits himself down on the wet sand on the other side of the fence, "Please sit with me…What's your name?"_

"_Oh, I'm Kurt."_

"_Kurt. That's a pretty name." The other boy smiles at me, and it's such a nice smile that I find that I'm smiling back before I have the chance to remember that I'm sad. _

"_My name is Blaine," he gives, poking his little hand through the fence to offer it to me; I take it in a friendly shake and sit myself down on the District 4 sand._

_I tell Blaine, who it turns out, is a very good listener, about how my mother was chosen for the games. I begin to tell him about my mother being murdered in the arena, but it's hard to get the words out without feeling as if my heart is being ripped out all over again._

"_I... I just really miss her, Blaine. I feel like I'll never be happy again, not really." I say, tears welling again in my eyes._

_When I look up at Blaine, I see that there are silent tears falling over his olive skin, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. That shouldn't happen to anyone, not ever, especially when it's someone as nice as you." Blaine speaks sadly, slipping his hand back through the fence to brush his fingers over the backs of mine. _

_Normally I would shy away from this sort of contact; I'd never wanted anyone's hands in mine but my Mother's or Father's. Sometimes the other boys at school would hold the girls' hands when they were really good friends or they liked them in that way, but I never fancied that. I never felt as if I wanted to hold the boys' hands either, they were too mean. _

_But as I search Blaine's face, I see something different. He looks up at me through his long eyelashes and I see genuine caring in his warm eyes. So I take his hand in mine, exhaling in relief as I allow the comforting touch to sooth my throbbing heart a little._

_We sit comfortably for a while, Blaine's thumb stroking over the back of my hand. Just him, me and the swishing sound of the sea, washing over my thoughts. _

"_This necklace is all I have left." I break the silence, retrieving the shell pendant from my pocket. I feel kind of silly for sharing my mother's necklace with someone that I've just met, and I almost wish that I'd kept my sacred item to myself. I look up from the pendant to see that Blaine is smiling sadly at me with a far off look in his eyes. _

_The boy fumbles around his pocket with his free hand and after a moment of shifting pulls out a tiny silver bell. He lets me see it for a second before clasping his hand tightly around the trinket and holding it to his chest._

"_This is all I have left of my mommy too," he says sadly._

_My mouth opens to form a little 'o' as I take in the information._

"_How?" I ask simply._

_Blaine opened his palm again and studied the little bell for a moment before answering, his eyes glassed over as he began to speak,_

"_She got very sick… and well, you see we don't have much money on my farm and my daddy tried really hard to save her, he did." Blaine choked out, "but even after selling everything we could manage, we still didn't have nearly enough money to pay for the special medicine." His eyes, brimmed with tears, finally found mine. _

_I squeezed Blaine's hand in comfort as I could honestly say that I understood how he felt._

"_Don't you have a chain to put that on?" I ask as Blaine fiddles with the bell. "To keep it safe." I confirm._

"_Nope." Blaine replies sadly._

_After a moment more of staring down at his hand, Blaine seems to have come to a conclusion of what he's tossing around his mind, _

"_Are you coming back tomorrow?" He asks. His voice is like a mouse, I can barely hear him._

"_Oh." I haven't really considered what I'm doing from here. I realise that I really need to get home soon as my father will be worrying, but I do want to see Blaine again. "Okay. Yes, I'll be here tomorrow." I decide._

_Blaine's face lights up visibly, "Okay! Then can I ask you a favour, Kurt?"_

_I nod my head enthusiastically. After all the kindness Blaine has shown me, I decide that a granting him one wish is only fair._

"_Please can you look after this?" He says, placing the little tinkling pendant into my palm and closing my fingers around it with his own. _

_I feel my eyes growing wide as I stare back at Blaine with apprehension. I don't know if I trust myself to keep such a sacred and delicate thing safe. I'm already worried that it may have managed to slip from my grasp somehow; I squeeze my palm tighter until I can feel that it's most definitely still there._

"_Are you sure!"_

"_Yeah, I trust you can keep it safer than me." Blaine reassures, "You have a chain to keep it on. And maybe it'll make you feel a little better too. I mean when you see it, you can remember that I'll be thinking of you and wishing you better." Blaine blabbers on, blushing when he realises what he's said._

_I feel my cheeks warming too, along with my heart. I think Blaine and I could become very good friends, even best friends!_

I blink rapidly as my consciousness pulls itself back to reality and leaves my vivid memory behind. This is the first time in a long while that I've willingly let my mind wonder to that day. I'm glad for it though as I begin to remember the other good memories shared with Blaine.

After that day I kept my promise and I did go back to the border to see Blaine. I brought back the necklace, which surprisingly did help me; either the object itself or the knowledge that I finally had a friend got me through the long and lonely night a little better.

Visiting Blaine became a daily thing. The mayor of 4 had graced me with a week or so off school after my mother's death to come to terms with it all (how lovely of him), but soon I was back in school. This didn't stop me seeing my friend though.

Every day after school I'd drop by at my father's work and force him to take a break and convince him to eat something. Part of me wanted to nurse him constantly, but another more dominant and selfish part of me wanted to get away from his consuming depression. So my escape came in the form of Blaine. After seeing my father I would go home and cram into my school sack whatever leftovers there were from the previous night's supper, be it bread rolls or if we were lucky some cold shellfish, before taking off down the beach to find the little curly-haired boy who waited for me on the other side of that fence come rain or shine.

I knew I could tell him everything, and I did. We'd chat about our day at school, laugh at each other's silly stories, comfort one another when things got tough, help each other understand the very different worlds that lie on either side of that fence. But more importantly, talk about the things that made those worlds the same. The Games were indeed something of a harsh reality to us both, but we tried to avoid talking about them too much. Some days Blaine would bring interesting toys that I'd never played with before, or I'd bring pieces of rope and teach him how to tie knots. Some days we'd do nothing but lay on our backs with hands intertwined through the fence, staring up at the sky, just simply enjoying each other's company.

I still took home Blaine's pendant every evening, and he would wear the necklace during our time together. I felt guilty, for I ended up with it more than Blaine himself, but Blaine reassured me that it was okay.

"_You're like the other half to me anyway, Kurt. So if you have it, it's like I do too."_ He said one time when I asked.

But that was the problem.

Blaine was right. We were two halves of a whole. Without him I didn't feel like I was really all there. At night when I was alone the nightmares of my mother's death and my father's descent tormented my mind, but having that pendant with me became a way for me to feel like Blaine and his kindness were there too, and that mind-set alone dulled them enough to make it bearable. Every day when I was alone in the schoolyard or had no one to sit with at lunch, at least I knew that it was only a matter of time before I could be off down that beach and sitting with my best friend.

Blaine was always there, until he wasn't.

**_A/N: Please please PLEASE review, I'd love to hear your feedback!_**


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